‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. " "I see. ’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to have a mystery. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald.
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